If I weren't so lazy, I'd use Microsoft Paint(TM) to draw a thought bubble off to the right of Kath's head. In it, I'd either put a .gif of a monkey or a picture of myself. This is a wistful, dreamy and hopeful Kath. This is a Kath who could give two shits about artic air that's so cold it's freezing what enamel she has left on her teeth. She's dreamin', man. Thinkin' about white sandy beaches and shirtless dudes. I wouldn't be surprised if she takes a vacation soon. You heard it here first.
This is the same look I imagine someone would have if they saw a UFO floating above a pasture and using a laser to slaughter calves with incredible precision (if you haven't read this article, by the way, please do so post haste . . . if only for this quote: "Only a human or something like that can cut the ears like that." Mike Tyson?). The same look will find her face when she is told that sports anchor Drew Soicher is suspected of having an "inappropriate relationship" with Gidget, the Denver Zoo's NFL prognosticating sea lion (who is fucking terrible at predicting games, by the way).
*lowers eyes, exhales deeply and shakes head back and forth slowly*
If that's not a come hither stare, then I'm not sure what would qualify. Focused, pensive, alluring . . . if she was looking at me like this in a bar I would probably smile, blush and avert my eyes before sending her a cocktail via the barkeep - probably a Prado, because this look makes me believe Kath can handle egg whites in her cocktail. Yeesh, that sounds a little more risque than I intended. Ah well, it's a new decade. Innuendo is all the rage in the Twenty Ten . . . or so the college kids would lead me to believe.
And I would be remiss if I did not bow slightly and congratulate Kath on a job well done for her predictin' of this storm. She was spot on with the snow forecast (2-4, shitbirds) and the rapidly dropping mercury. Sure, the winds weren't quite as strong as she had hoped, but I won't hold that against her. Nobody likes the wind. It is Satan's farts.